


A Romantic Or A Rogue?

by Liadt



Category: Adam Adamant Lives!
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-31
Updated: 2015-06-09
Packaged: 2018-04-01 00:39:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 13,847
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3999313
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Liadt/pseuds/Liadt
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There was a barman who sold young ladies for a fumble,<br/>Before meeting Miss Jones caused him to crumble,<br/>Admitting defeat,<br/>He beat a retreat,<br/>Which led to his business taking a tumble.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Escape to the Country

**Author's Note:**

> Any similarities with everyday tales of farming folk maybe slightly obvious (especially as I borrowed a few lines), but I thought Adam had suffered enough without sending him to the 1980's.

“Simms!” called Adam, entering his flat from the lift. “Pack me an overnight bag, immediately. I’m going away for a few days to Burchester, in the Cotswolds.”

In the drawing room, Georgie’s head popped up over the top of the sofa, where she had been lounging. “Is something going down there?” she asked, with unsuppressed excitement. 

“Miss Jones, what are you doing here?” questioned a surprised Adam.

“Oh, you know, the usual, waiting to see if there is anyone who needs our help to thwart dastardly deeds.”

“There is no “our” help,” said Adam, scowling at her flippancy.

“Wow-ee, it’s that exciting is it? What’s the case then?”

“There is nothing untoward happening. I am merely taking a sabbatical from the fast pace of cosmopolitan life,” claimed Adam.

Just then, Simms, drying his hands with a tea towel, came in from the kitchen. He had been doing the washing up.

“Do you know, Simms, I believe Mr Adamant is lying to me,” said Georgie.

Adam turned to address his manservant. “I left quite specific instructions for Miss Jones to be kept away when I have a meeting at the Ministry.”

“Aha!” cried Georgie, in triumph. 

“You failed to inform me you were going to the Ministry today, Sir,” said Simms, smoothly. “As Miss Jones has long since graduated from being a nuisance to the proverbial bad penny, no doubt she would have gained access to your abode using some cheap trick, regardless of any preventative measures that I might put in place.”

Georgie stuck her tongue out at Simms, but he was unmoved.

“If you won’t tell me what your mission is, you’ll have to tell Simms won’t you? I won’t listen.” Georgie put her hands over her ears and started to hum.

Adam wasn’t sure whether to laugh or not. He waved a hand to indicate she should stop humming.

“Simms,” ordered Adam and pointed at Georgie.

Simms sighed. “I think Mr Adamant wants you to stop,” he said loudly in her face and pulled her hands away from her ears.

“OK, no need to shout,” said Georgie. “Are you going to spill what the case is?” she added, in a theatrical whisper.

“If you promise not to follow me I will tell you,” said Adam, sternly.

Georgie sat up ramrod straight and smiled, pleased at getting Adam to talk. “Scout’s honour,” she said, giving the Scout’s salute. 

Adam accepted Georgie’s vow, although he thought the Scouts didn’t allow girls to join. “The Minister has brought to my attention that our Nation’s enemies have been receiving top-secret information about new weapons developments. Until yesterday, the Minister was at a loss as to how the information was being leaked. Then one of the scientists working on a new missile had a traffic accident. On his deathbed, he made a confession. He apologised for being weak and regretted going to a wine bar in Burchester. “If only I hadn’t gone there…” were his last words. I am visiting Burchester as part of an intelligence gathering mission, requiring stealth, patience and sitting quietly for hours,” explained Adam, listing things he though Georgie was unwilling to do for long periods of time.

“I agree, it doesn’t sound half as thrilling as your usual scrapes,” said Georgie, with a yawn and slumped back down on the sofa.

****

Burchester was a pretty market town, with a wide, grass-fringed high street. Buildings built out of honey-coloured stone looked out over its streets. The surrounding countryside was equally picturesque, with Tudor manor houses and chocolate box cottages dotted amongst the gently rolling hills.

Georgie had parked her scooter in the town centre and ventured off the main road on foot. She had asked a couple of locals where the wine bars were in Burchester. They had replied there was only one, Horatio’s, although it was technically a club since its reopening. Following the directions she had been given, she found the bar easily enough. She paused outside the bar, partly to read the large poster that advertised “Acrobatic dancing” on Friday and Saturday nights and partly because it was a lovely summer’s day and she was loath to leave the sunshine. Someone also wanted to entice the sunshine into the bar as the entrance doors were open. 

Passing over the threshold into the bar, Georgie found the ceiling lights were on. They illuminated wine glasses, that hung over the bar and a large array of bottles stacked behind it. A huge mirror, which stretched nearly the length of one wall, also reflected the light. Despite the light, the low ceiling combined with rich chocolate brown walls gave an intimate feel. There was also music being piped from speakers. Georgie recognised the record as an instrumental version of _Ain’t Misbehavin’_ and began to sing the lyrics. Progressing further into the premises, she ran a finger along the smooth, polished surface of the bar, taking care not to bump into bar stools. 

Georgie abruptly stopped singing when she noticed a man at the far end of the room, sweeping a small stage, with an extra-wide broom. The man had grey hair that was fading into white and he was dressed in a crisply pressed, white shirt, with the sleeves rolled up, and cream trousers. Despite the size of the stage, he was methodically sweeping to the centre of the stage, leaving a long strip of dust, feathers and sequins down the centre.

Ever helpful, Georgie walked across the patterned carpet and picked up a dustpan and brush that were on the floor next to the stage. “Do you want a hand?” she asked.

“Thank you, Miss-?” replied the man.

Georgie blinked in surprise. The man didn’t speak in the thick, country burr she had encountered when talking to the locals. In fact, he sounded like Simms, if a smidgen more well spoken. She momentarily considered enquiring if the two had worked together, but knowing Simms, they probably would have fallen out with each other on tour and decided not to bring the matter up.

“Miss Jones, Georgina Jones,” supplied Georgie. “Is the manager in?”

The man stopped sweeping and pulled himself up to his full height. “I am the manager and proprietor, Horatio Mariscal. Call me Horatio.” 

“Oh, smashing. I saw your poster outside advertising dancing girls and I was wondering if there was a job going?”

Horatio shook his head. 

“A bar maid? I have experience. I’ve worked in a discotheque in London.”

Horatio frowned and opened his mouth to speak, but Georgie spoke first. “A cleaner then? Surely on a day as fab as today you’d prefer to be outside, instead of sweeping up in here?”

“I would, but as the English sun is too weak for me, I’m inclined to stay in my natural habitat.”

“Pot washer?” Georgie was getting desperate.

Horatio gripped the broom tightly in his hands and banged it on the floor. “No, no, no, Georgina, my dear, this simply won’t do. Tell me was that you singing just now?”

“Yes, it was.”

“Are you a chanteuse by profession?”

“A singer? I did cut a record in the studio, but the record company shut before it was released,” replied Georgie. 

“Ah, as I thought, a true artiste on their uppers. Such is the lot of those with imagination to be felled by the slings and arrows of outrageous creditors. No, you’re far too good to waste your talents as a member of the chorus line. Do you know any other songs from the Roaring Twenties and Thirties?”

“Quite a few - my Aunt loved all the old tunes like _Annabel Lee, Am I Blue, Button Up Your Overcoat, Body And Soul_ …”

“Timeless classics,” said Horatio. 

“Yes, indeed,” agreed Georgie. Although she really preferred the latest, groovy chart hits, old dance band tunes were an improvement on Adam’s classical recordings. At least the bands were from the twentieth century. “Would you like to hear me sing a selection?”

“That would be divine,” said Horatio, leaving the stage for Georgie.

Georgie ran through an assortment of various verses and choruses of all the old songs she could think of and resisted the temptation to slip a few Rolling Stones lyrics in.

Throughly absorbed, Horatio half-closed his eyes in reverie. “Ah, exquisite,” he said, when Georgie had finished her audition. “You’re what my bar has been waiting for. Not that I dislike the dancing girls - they keep the respectable element away and I wouldn’t swap them for muscle men, who have a nasty habit of being bailiffs in disguise, but I’d planned my establishment to be the crème-de-la-crème of entertainment venues. Currently, it’s more like the powdered milk bar of Burchester. With your liquid vocals I’ll have prestige and profits.” Horatio clapped his hands together and looked out across the bar.

There was a silence as Georgie wondered if she should break Horatio out of his contemplation of the bar. 

“Oh, I’m sorry,” said Horatio, “My thoughts wandered for a moment. Do you have an evening dress to perform in?”

“Erm.” Georgie was wearing a striped, long-sleeved T-shirt and trousers, which were fine for sitting on a moped, but less so for a professional singing engagement.

Horatio spoke before Georgie could give an answer. “Not that a voice as spellbinding as yours needs any adornments, but I think we should go with convention.”

“I didn’t bring any evening gear with me. I travelled here on my scooter.”

“Never mind, I’m sure I can find you something suitable. Hmm, I don’t think I have anything small enough to fit your frame at my flat. I’ll have to investigate what is in my antiques store. It’s a real treasure trove.”

“Treasure? Your horde is a load of junk,” sneered a slender woman, who had come striding into the bar through a door marked ‘Private - Staff Only’. She was in her late twenties, had long, dark hair piled on top of her head in an elaborate hairstyle and wore a shiny, black, shift dress, with silver threads weaved into it. The threads caught the light and glittered, as she stalked over to them in high heels. 

“Georgina, may I introduce you to Sabine Debarr, my partner, _business_ partner that is,” said Horatio, stiffly.

Sabine curled her lip scornfully at Horatio, as he clarified their relationship to Georgie.

“Sabine, meet our new star in the firmament of Horatio’s,” announced Horatio.

“We have enough girls,” said Sabine, flatly. “I’m sorry if my business partner raised your hopes of a job, with his pointless prattle.” 

“Please excuse, Sabine. She believes conversation is a degenerate art,” Horatio said, before whispering into Georgie’s ear, “Don’t worry, I’ll smooth things over. Come back at five tonight, OK?”

Georgie gave a small nod to show she had heard.

Horatio then said loudly, “I think you’d better run along and enjoy the sunshine while it lasts, Georgina.”

“Oh, all right. It’s nice to have met you,” said Georgie, walking out of the bar.

“What were you thinking of Horatio? The girl isn’t to our clients taste at all. They like busty girls,” said Sabine.

“I think Georgina is perfectly lovely,” sniffed Horatio.

“Lovely isn’t the trait of a successful lap dancer.”

“I wasn’t going to engage the girl to provide a bit of sauce for our select patrons, but to perform a set of classic songs from an age of glamour and sophistication.”

“Have you forgotten what brings the money into this place? If the punters wanted sophistication you wouldn’t have needed me and the girls to get your bar into the black for the first time in its history.”

“I thought while Georgina was singing some of the girls could mingle with the customers, while the others could perform at the front of the stage,” said Horatio, irritated at Sabine’s condescending tone.

“That's a good idea. I do believe you’ve finally grasped the idea of how to make money. Do you know where we can get in contact with the girl?”

“I told her to come back later,” said Horatio, smugly. 

****

Early on in the evening, Georgie returned to the bar, after finding food and lodgings. The harsh, bright lights that had been on in the afternoon were turned off and there was soft, muted lighting instead. In the main bar area, she found Horatio fussing with an arrangement of flowers on the stage. He had changed his clothes from earlier and now wore a smart, black suit with a small, red carnation in a buttonhole and a bow tie. 

“Hello!” called Georgie, uncertain if the flowers were a good sign.

“Ah, Georgina! You came back,” said Horatio, cheerfully. He stepped off the stage and wound his way around circular tables of various sizes to where she was standing. “I’ve persuaded Sabine to take you on as the house singer, if your set goes well tonight.” 

On reaching Georgina, Horatio took her hands in his and kissed her on both cheeks in greeting. Her nostrils filled with the scent of lavender, as he did so. It powerfully reminded her of the time she went on her first holiday abroad in France. She had run out of money and had been obliged to work on a lavender farm to cover her bed and board. When Horatio stepped back and kept hold of one of her hands in his, she couldn’t help wondering if the change of clothes and eau de toilet was for his role of host or for her benefit.

“Do you like the set dressing?” Horatio said, steering her towards the stage.

“It’s very nice,” answered Georgie, looking at the pot plants and flowers on the rostra. 

Horatio took Georgie’s polite reply as one of disappointment. “It’s the best I could manage in the time.”

“The flowers arrangements are smashing,” said Georgie, with more enthusiasm.

“I expect that’s my country upbringing coming through. Have a seat, my dear, and a drink to celebrate your opening night. Horatio pulled out a chair from under a table and indicated Georgie should sit with a flourish of his free hand. “Have you eaten?”

“Yes, I have, thanks,”

“Pity, the walnut quiche is excellent. You’ll have to meet the chef, Shane, he’s a marvel. Nigel get two glasses and a bottle of our finest champagne,” called Horatio to a young man, who looked like a pointy-faced Paul McCartney, behind the counter. 

“It’s too early for a drink,” said Georgie, embarrassed at Horatio’s display.

Horatio sat at the table with her and Nigel came over to pore the drinks, before returning to his post. “Nonsense. It’s never too early for champagne. I have it on good authority that the bubbles lubricate the vocal chords.”

“Mmm,” said Horatio, drinking some champagne. “I’ve just remembered; I’ve no idea where I’ve put your dress. There was a delivery earlier I had to deal with. It can’t have gone far. You don’t mind if I leave you on your own while I locate it?”

“Oh no, I’ll be fine.” Georgie was keen to search the premises alone.

“I always say you’re never alone with a bottle of champagne,” said Horatio, with a wink. He left her to vanish through the ‘Staff Only’ door. 

Georgie looked around. There didn’t appear to be much to investigate in the bar and annoyingly the bar man had stayed. She had hoped he would help in the search for her dress. She sighed, took a small sip of her drink, and fantasised about having dinner with a Beatle.

“Hello Miss - are you that Georgina?” Georgie nearly jumped out of her skin. Glancing up she saw, not Paul McCartney, but an elderly man, with a twinkle in his eye. How he had sneaked up on her unawares, she didn’t know. 

“That’s me,” Georgie spluttered. 

“I’m Wally, Horatio’s father,” said the old man.

“Really?” George couldn’t keep the shock out of her voice. It was rather impolite of her, she guessed, but she found it hard to imagine the two being related. Horatio had the pallor of someone who worked indoors, while Wally’s wrinkled skin was as brown as nut. In addition, there was the voice - Wally’s accent was rustic, the most rustic she’d ever heard, whereas Horatio’s was cultured. They dressed differently too; Wally’s clothes were clean, but crumpled, yet Horatio’s were freshly pressed and smart, even for sweeping. The only thing they had in common was a background whiff of the same brand of soap powder. 

Wally chucked; he was clearly used to such a reaction. “Aye, tis many that gets confused. My Horatio didn’t always sound so fine. He had a proper Burshire accent ‘til he joined the RAF and came back speaking posh. I don’t know where he picked up his fancy ways, but they say travel broadens the mind. Are you his girl then?”

“I’ve only arrived today,” said Georgie, taken aback at Wally’s direct approach.

“Ah well, it doesn’t take my Horatio long to be taken with a girl. I can tell he’s after someone when he has a red carnation on. I do like you though. You’re a sweet girl. I can tell, not like that Sabine.” Wally spat Sabine’s name out. 

“You’re not a fan of hers?” asked Georgie, angling for some useful information.

“If I’d known my lad was going to take up with that jezebel, I would’ve given him his mother’s rose bowl to sell. He’d been having cash flow problems with the pub and shut it. Then _she_ turned up with her money. When he told me this woman was going to invest in his pub, I thought she might be good for him and help him settle down. I worry about him. All I want is for him to be happy and give me grandkids. Sabine would be a wicked stepmother to her own children, but you’re a nice girl aren’t you? A natural mother.”

The staff door swung open and Horatio came hurrying out, carrying some material draped over an arm.

“Hello, son!” greeted Wally.

“Dad, I’ve just cleaned the floor and you’ve left muddy foot prints all over it,” scolded Horatio.

“I was at the duck pond looking for these barn owls the young un’s are interested in,” said Wally, apologetically.

Horatio was unmoved by the tremor in Wally’s voice. “You didn’t have to stand in the mud to do it though,” said Horatio, critically, as he came over to the table. “Dad’s not been boring you with scurrilous tales of my colourful past has he?”

“Don’t worry, lad, I didn’t tell her about your part in the Burchester mail-van robbery, like you told me to. Them criminals made out he was the boss, you know,” confided Wally to Georgie.

“I didn’t have any part in the robbery - I was acquitted, found innocent of all charges,” said Horatio, irritably. 

“Yes, I know that, son.”

“What _are_ you here for anyway?” said Horatio, in a sharp tone Georgie didn’t think was appropriate. Wally seemed a dear old man, even if he was keen on her hooking up with his son.

“I came to get that knock off beer, you said I could have and drink it while I dig in my potatoes.”

“I told you I would dig your infernal trenches for you. I’m sure your crop won’t be ruined if you can wait until Sunday. Please _don’t_ try to do it yourself. You’ll do your back in and God knows what else. Go to the bar and tell Nigel to load up your car with crates of beer.”

“Thank you, son,” said Wally, rising to get his free alcohol. “You’ll remember to come for your tea tomorrow? I got a packet of custard creams in, your favourites,” said Wally, getting up and going to find Nigel.

“Yes, Dad.” 

Georgie allowed herself a smile at the cracks in Horatio’s suave demeanour.

Horatio turned to Georgie. “It’s not “knock off” beer, it’s a mis-order. Nigel, my bar man, has mastered the art of leaving his mark on a piece of paper, but putting an ‘X’ in the correct square on an order form is as yet beyond his intellectual reach. I’m sorry about my Dad, he wasn’t bothering you was he?” Horatio asked, calming down.

“Oh no, he was telling me what a nice girl I am.”

“And how much he wants me to settle down and supply him with rosy cheeked grandchildren to gambol around the garden?”

“He briefly mentioned it.”

Horatio sighed. “You’ll have to forgive my father. He does tend to sound like he regards women as brood mares with respect to me. He means well, but he has only one concept of happiness. I find domestic life terribly complicated - I don’t know how others sail through it, but I’m digressing. Here is your dress - isn’t it dazzling?” Horatio proudly held up the dress. It was a flapper-style dress, with heavily beaded fringing in a gold and black chevron pattern.

“Zow-ee! It’s super,” breathed Georgie.

“I know,” said Horatio, smugly. “I’ll have to show you around my antiques store. It’s full of object d’art I’m sure you’ll appreciate. Would you care to try it on?”

“Yes, please!”

“I’ll take you through to the dressing room and introduce you to the girls. I’ve been telling them all about you.”

Was there anyone Horatio hadn’t spoken to about her, thought Georgie.

****

Georgie went with Horatio into the part of the building that was barred to the public. Not far down a white corridor, Horatio knocked loudly on a door. 

“Are you decent, ladies?” Horatio shouted.

“Are we ever?” responded a female voice, followed by laughter and a chorus of invitations to come in.

Horatio opened the door to the dressing room. A row of dressing tables in different styles lined the back of the room. Mirrors of various shapes were hung above them. Georgie speculated the items were ones Horatio had deemed as not good enough for his ‘horde’. On the desks were the usual dressing room detritus of make-up, tissues, wigs and headdresses on fake heads, mugs of tea, chocolate bar wrappers, tokens from well wishes and cards. There were also a couple of bulging clothes racks on the opposite side of the room to the dressing tables. In the midst of the clutter were five young women sat on chairs doing their make-up. 

Horatio put his arm around Georgie’s shoulder. “Girls, this is Miss Georgina Jones - the spellbinding chanteuse, who will be taking the spotlight tonight and hopefully for many more nights to come. Let me introduce you. Georgina, my dear, this is Lizzie.”

“Hello!” said a lively brunette, with corkscrew curls, almost bouncing herself off her chair in response.

Horatio then pointed at a short girl, with big, grey eyes, trying to flatten her natural, strawberry blonde hair down for a wig. “Clarrie.”

“Hi there.”

“Caroline.”

“Please to meet you,” replied a gamine woman, with dignity. She had chestnut hair that framed her heart-shaped face.

“Susan.”

“Evening,” said a sad-eyed blonde girl, with mousey roots. 

“And finally, Jolene.”

“Hello,” said Jolene, casually waving a mascara wand. She was a curvy, young woman, with long, raven tresses.

“I’ll leave you to get ready - I have to be charming out front with the real people,” said Horatio. He dumped the flapper dress into Georgie’s arms and exited the dressing room. 

There was a silence, as Georgie was left standing in the middle of the room. She sagged under the weight of the dress’s beads. They made the dress surprisingly heavy. The women looked her up and down critically. Georgie wished Horatio hadn’t been so effusive in declaring she was the star and effectively telling the girls they were second best. She wondered if they were going to cold shoulder her or were waiting to think up catty remarks.

Georgie cleared her throat, “It’s fab to meet you, call me Georgie, all my friends do.”

There was another silence until Clarrie spoke, “That’s a pretty outfit, but it doesn’t match our cossies. We’re all sequins and feathers and you’re all beads and fringing.”

“I suppose if we went with the black, feather headdresses, we could lend you a black, feather boa to tie us all in,” mused Caroline. 

“And I could snap off a few black feathers and stick them under a headband. That’d be 1920’s wouldn’t it?” said Susan.

“Have you any stilettos with you?” asked Lizzie.

“No, I didn’t think to bring any,” said Georgie.

“I’ve an old pair, cross fingers, that’ll fit,” said Lizzie.

“That’s very generous of you.”

“It’s no bother. Horatio hasn’t thought your outfit through has he?” tutted Lizzie.

“You’re not cross at me?” blurted out Georgie.

“Why should we be angry at you?” queried Jolene.

“Well, I’ve turned up and taken over your act.”

“Shaking our assets at worn out boffins from the research base up at Haimbridge Hall is hardly an act,” said Lizzie, dismissively. “Your shoving us off stage is a blessing, it means we’ll be serving the punters drinks and that means more tips. We’ll have to take it in turns to do a few twirls, but at the end of the day it’s extra cash.”

“I’m going to spend it on finding a decent agent,” said Jolene, with a laugh.

“I’m saving for a deposit on a house, for when I get married to my Eddie. He won’t let me work here once we’re hitched. I’m going to be a housewife,” said Clarrie, proudly.

“I want a place of my own, just a little flat somewhere I can live with my baby daughter,” said Susan, as she applied her fake eyelashes. “At the moment, she’s at my mum’s and I don’t want her growing up thinking I’m her sister. My boyfriend said he’d stand by me, but he up and left. If I could move somewhere different, where no one knows me, I could say I was a widow.”

“I’d like my love life to be less complicated too,” added Caroline, gloomily.

“I want to be able to afford six new pairs of shoes every week,” said Lizzie, lightening the mood.

“Barlows doesn’t get that many new styles in a month,” said Caroline.

“Oh well, I’ll just have to make the best of it, like we all do in here, including Horatio,” replied Lizzie, before adding to Georgie, “This is supposed to be a classy cocktail bar, believe it or not.”

“It’ll be ‘not’ once Georgie’s seen how little we wear,” said Susan, waving a pink, satin bikini top.

“Horatio's was a posh bar, but there’s not much call for that sort of thing round here. The farmers prefer the spit and sawdust pubs, like The Sheep and the posh nobs go up to White Peaks Country Club or The Quills. The bar went bust in the run up to Christmas last year. Still that’s enough of our problems; what about you? Have you got a boyfriend?” enquired Clarrie.

“Not at the moment,” answered Georgie.

Caroline grinned wolfishly. “Horatio’s very keen on you and he deserves time off from us moaning about our boyfriends.”

“Horatio’s bedroom has to be seen to be believed. His bed has satin sheets,” said Jolene, knowledgably. 

“In black,” added Clarrie.

“Very romantic,” laughed Lizzie.

“I’m not interested,” said Georgie, in alarm at the way the conversation was going. Perhaps this is what Adam felt like when she tried to talk to him about hippies and the Summer of Love, she thought. Horatio was too old for her as well, although in terms of actual years she guessed he was half the age of Adam, if she included the time Adam was on ice.

“He’s very persistent,” said Caroline.

“I’m very stubborn,” counted Georgie, folding her arms.

“That won’t stop Horatio, if he’s minded. If he gets too over-powering, you have to be firm and hit him on the end of his nose with a newspaper,” advised Lizzie.

“Aren’t you confusing him with your terrier?” asked Susan.

“If you give either of them an inch they’ll take it. I felt sorry for him one winter’s night and now I can’t get him out of the bed,” continued Lizzie.

“I have no idea if you’re talking about Horatio or your dog,” joked Caroline.

“Caroline!” Lizzie threw a hairbrush at Caroline, which she ducked with ease. “I wouldn’t leave Nigel for Horatio or anyone else for that matter.”

“Until Tim finishes his National Service.” Caroline obviously wasn’t scared of Lizzie launching items at her head as an eyelash curler flew across the room in reply.

“All right, keep your hair on, we all know how attached you are to Nigel. He’s the only man we’re allowed back here,” said Caroline.

“He does work here,” pointed out Lizzie.

“That’s another thing,” said Susan to Georgie. “Horatio’s not bothered, but Sabine’s very strict about male visitors. Don’t bring any men in without her say so.”

“Don’t go where you’re not meant to either,” said Jolene, frostily. “We do special “dances” for certain gentlemen, so don’t go listening at doors or you’re out. Especially not the third one down.”

****


	2. Putting on a Performance

Adam strolled into the dimly lit bar. It was towards the end of the night and Horatio’s was still busy. The sound of a singer and a piano was partially drowned out by the lively chatter of the overwhelmingly male clientele. The customers sat on stools and at tables trying to catch the eye of one of the young women who were serving drinks. The women wore silver, satin corsets edged with downy, black feathers and matching pants. On their heads, they wore headdresses with black plumes that fell down their backs. Adam pulled a face in distaste at the way the women leaned over the men, to draw attention to their chests. They were, to his mind, already exposing more flesh than was decent.

By the bar, Horatio spied Adam hovering near the entrance. He was going to invite Adam in when Sabine caught him by the arm.

“I’ll see to the gentleman,” Sabine said.

“Very well,” said Horatio, amused. He thought Sabine had taken a shine to the newcomer and moved to the side to allow her to play the hostess.

“Good evening, Sir, would you care to be seated at a table?” said Sabine, all smiles for a change.

“If you’re not too busy, Madam, that would be delightful,” said Adam, politely, if not truthfully.

“I’m sure I can find room for a gentleman like you. If you will come with me, I’ll find you an excellent seat.”

“That’s most hospitable of you,” said Adam and followed Sabine further into the bar. Sabine seated him directly in front of the stage and left him to get his drinks order. Two women were slowly gyrating their bodies at the foot of the stage. They wore the same outfits as the waitresses. Embarrassed, Adam swiftly transferred his gaze to the singer. Unlike the others, she was wearing a dress, true, it only fell to her knees, but it was an improvement. His eyes moved up her body to focus on the safer region of her face. Because of her short, black bob, it took him a moment to register who the singer was. It was Miss Jones in a wig.

Adam opened his mouth to chastise Miss Jones for coming to this den of iniquity and then shut it. There was nothing to be gained in getting her into any more trouble than she was already. Instead, Adam glared at her. She responded by giving him a large smile as she sang. For her next song, she stepped off the stage to Adam, draped her black, feather boa around him, and bent over him. Thankfully, her dress wasn’t revealing anything. 

In between singing lyrics, Georgie whispered into his ear, “I’m staying - _Listen big boy now that I've got you made_ \- at The Sheep and Trousers - _Goodness, but I'm afraid something's gonna happen to you_ \- I’ll meet you there when I’ve finished - _Listen big boy, you've got me hooked, and how_ \- follow the road out of Burchester towards Haimbridge - _I would die if I should lose you now_ \- you can’t miss it.”

Georgie pulled her boa slowly off Adam in a seductive manner and did a circuit of the front row.

*****

In the dressing room the other girls had left and Georgie was changing back into her usual outfit of trousers and striped top. She wondered if one of the dancers had gone to the forbidden room. She switched the lights off, stepped out into the corridor and bumped straight into Horatio.

“Ah, Georgina, my dear, the more I hear you sing the more enchanting your songs become. You bring a subtlety to the most trite lyrics. It’s a tremendous skill you have,” gushed Horatio. 

“Thank you,” said Georgie, embarrassed both by the praise and how it was delivered.

“You looked simply stunning tonight. You enjoyed wearing the dress didn’t you?”

“Yes, I loved the gear.”

“It belonged to a Duchess in the twenties. When she came of age, it took her less than a year to spend her trust fund on high living,” Horatio informed her.

Georgie smiled in amusement at the admiration in Horatio’s voice for the Duchess’ spending. Horatio smiled back and moved closer to her. Hello, has he interpreted my smile for something else, thought Georgie. She moved away from him and found the dressing room door at her back.

“Where are you staying tonight?” asked Horatio. 

“I’ve booked in at The Sheep and Trousers.”

“The Sheep! It’s not somewhere I’d recommend,” said Horatio, pulling a face.

“They were very friendly when I asked if they had a room free and I didn’t have much money on me.”

“If Sabine hadn’t come and put her oar in earlier, I could have arranged an advance for somewhere better. As it’s too late to find anywhere else, why not stay at my flat? It’s fully renovated. All mod cons and my bed is mercifully free of bugs, which can’t be said for The Sheep.” Horatio stretched an arm out past Georgie’s head and put his hand on the door. 

“I wouldn’t want to put you to any trouble,” said Georgie. She was beginning to go off the smell of Lavender. At this rate, she would have to put her knee somewhere Adam would disapprove of, but on balance, he would disapprove of Horatio’s invitation more.

“It would be my pleasure,” said Horatio and staring intently into Georgie’s eyes, he leant forward.

Ordinarily, Georgie would have ducked out under Horatio’s arm, but he had left her with very little room to manoeuvre. Kissing was all right if it lead to telling, but Horatio as far as she knew wasn’t the type to stop at a kiss. 

“I’ve left my things at The Sheep, so I can’t stay at yours tonight, much as I would like to,” Georgie stalled. She tried to slide along the door away from Horatio, but her elbow came into contact with the door handle and pushed it down. With both Horatio and Georgie’s weight on the door, it instantly swung open. The pair of them toppled to the dressing room floor, with a cry of shock. Georgie somehow rolled to the side, before Horatio could land on top of her. 

Surprisingly, considering he had fallen flat on his face, Horatio got to his feet before Georgie. He gave Georgie a shaky smile and put his hand out to her. “I think the fates have just spoken. I shouldn’t have expected a lady, like yourself, to stay the night with me so soon after meeting. I hope you didn’t feel I was pressuring you. I would have slept on the settee and let you have the bed all to yourself.” Horatio sounded apologetic. 

Georgie nearly laughed out loud: that was the worst lie she had heard for a long time.

Horatio pulled Georgie to her feet and handed her the, now squashed, red carnation, out of his buttonhole. “At least let me give you a lift to The Sheep. It may not seem far during the day, but there has been a spate of late-night vandalism. I couldn’t live with myself if you bumped into a dissolute gentleman, who wasn’t me,” he offered, without a hint of the predatoriness of a few moments ago.

“I am tired and a lift would be fab,” said Georgie.

Horatio proffered his arm to her. “Let me give you my arm to steady you.”

Georgie dutifully linked arms with him. Horatio really was persistent. 

****

“If you find your things have gone for a walk in The Sheep tell me. I’ll take you shopping to buy something glamorous and pointless. Although as Burchester can’t do any better than Barlows you’ll have to make do with pointless,” promised Horatio. He was sat in his convertible sports car talking to Georgie, who was standing on the pavement outside The Sheep.

“OK, I will, thanks,” replied Georgie.

“Well, Goodnight Georgina.”

“’Night,” said Georgie and waved at Horatio as he sped off in his motor. She turned away and pushed through the door into the pub. Some would say the pub had an olde world charm, others would say they could imagine it harbouring highwaymen and cut-throat villains in the past. It was past last orders and the place was almost empty, save for two old men locked into a dominos death match and Adam. He was sat at a table, next to a large, unlit fireplace, looking like he was trying not to touch the surface. Georgie grinned happily on seeing Adam and made her away around the chunky, dark brown furniture to reach him. The walls weren’t much lighter; years of smoke from cigarettes had yellowed both the paintwork and the paintings of hunting and agricultural scenes hung on the wall.

“Hey, Mr Adamant,” greeted Georgie, sitting down on a stool with a plush, maroon top.

“Hello, Miss Jones. Now you have arrived may I implore you to leave this place before you find yourself in peril.”

“I know The Sheep isn’t that fancy, but it isn’t that bad. I could’ve taken up Horatio’s offer to stay overnight at his flat, but I refused, so The Sheep it is.”

“Very droll, my dear. I am referring to Horatio’s as you are well aware and you had promised not to follow me.”

“Well, I didn’t. I was here hours before you and I had to keep stopping and asking for directions. That’s not “following” in my book. Anyway, if I hadn’t got a gig at Horatio’s I wouldn’t have worked out who is the brains of the outfit.”

“Brains of the what-?” asked Adam.

“The ringleader, the Moriarty,” explained Georgie. “I reckon it’s Sabine Debarr, the lady in the black, sparkly dress, who is pulling the strings. The dancing girls told me to keep away from one room and that Sabine won’t let them bring any men she hasn’t vetted backstage. The girls said Horatio wouldn’t mind who they took out back. Horatio’s dad thinks she’s a bad lot too.”

“I hardly think Madam Debarr is at fault. I believe she is uneasy with the Devil’s work she is doing; why else would she vet the men allowed to consort with the girls? She may be persuaded to confess what she has stooped to survive, when I convince her no lady is irredeemable. As for Mr Horatio -?”

“Mariscal,” supplied Georgie.

“Along with trying to lure you to his quarters, Mr Mariscal is the owner of a business that leads to the ruination of innocent, young ladies-,"

“I don’t think they’re that innocent.”

“- Quite. This shows he is an incorrigible rogue of the highest order. He is the kind of man who would sell his Nation’s secrets without a second thought. The notion of a forbidden room is intriguing. I observed a man I recognised, from the file the Minister gave me, pass through the door marked ‘Private’. If I recall correctly, he is an expert on defence weapons. He may have arranged to pass on classified information in this room. I shall have to gain access tomorrow.”

“Great!” said Georgie, full of enthusiasm. “You can search the room where the spies all meet up and I’ll see what I can pump out of Horatio. He fancies me something rotten and as he won’t leave me for five seconds alone to investigate, I’ll exploit my influence over him. He tried it on with me as I was leaving Horatio’s.”

“Before you arrived, I conversed with a redoubtable old lady. She gave me a lively account of the history of the local farming families. She told me Mr Mariscal was a peculiar boy, who kept himself to himself. Clearly he was always fated to end up on the wrong side of the angels. Judging by the state of your appearance he no longer keeps himself separate from others.” Adam ran his eyes over Georgie’s dishevelled hair.

Georgie put her hand to her head to smooth down her hair. “Nothing happened! Not in the way you mean - I fell through the door of the dressing room to the floor.”

“Then I apologise for my hasty judgement.”

“I accept, but I can tell Horatio wants to make amends for being so forward. He gave me his carnation as an apology.” She showed Adam the red bloom and dropped it into the ashtray on the table. “I’m sure I could wheedle out of him how he’s passing the secrets on, if I mention I’d like to sign a long term contract. I’m an enchanting songbird, you know.”

“Your plan is foolish in the extreme, Miss Jones,” replied Adam, wearily. “I wish I had brought Simms with me to keep you away from business that doesn’t concern you.”

“Ooh, and there’s another thing - Horatio sounds exactly like Simms! I bet they were at the same theatre. I can see them falling out over who got top billing. It’s lucky he’s not come along.”

“I think the late hour has put too many fanciful notions into your head.”

“Why do you think they could be related? I hadn’t thought of that. But which one is the black sheep of the family?”

Adam shook his head in despair. “It is obvious you are in dire need of rest. I shall depart from this public hostelry to allow you to retire to your bed.”

“Aren’t you staying here?”

“Good heavens, no. I am staying at White Peaks Country Club. I last stayed there in 1898 at the behest of the owner, the Honourable Ralph Teddington. The service is not as good as it once was, but it is agreeable enough. Good night, Miss Jones,” said Adam, getting to his feet. “I pray you will see sense and return to London in the morning.”

****

“ _No one to talk with, all by myself, no one to walk with, but I'm happy on the shelf, ain't misbehaving’_ ,” sang Horatio, re-entering the bar, although his vocals weren’t as tuneful as Georgie’s. 

“I see you’ve come back alone,” observed Sabine. She was sat at the bar on a high stool, with a cigarette and a wine bottle close to hand. 

“Oh hello, Sabine. I didn’t see you there,” said Horatio, in surprise.

“Fetch a glass if you want to drown your sorrows.” Sabine gestured at the wine bottle.

Horatio reached up for a glass above the bar and joined Sabine. She poured him a drink.

“I take it Georgina was immune to your cosmopolitan sophistication? Perhaps you should stick to making passionate love to simple, country maids," said Sabine, mimicking Horatio.

“Simple, country maids have a dreadful habit of marrying themselves off to horny handed farmers, before I can get to them.”

“You’d be better off with persisting with honest country folk. Georgina isn’t what she seems.”

“We all have our secrets. I think Georgina is quite delightful, whatever she is or isn’t,” said Horatio, in Georgie’s defence. “After I’ve heralded in the dirty Mac brigade to Burchester, is it so wrong to desire something in my life that isn’t cheap and nasty?”

Sabine sneered and stubbed out her cigarette. “You’re not in love with her; it’s what she represents. If she told you to ditch the old tunes and get with it granddad you wouldn’t be so enamoured. You’re living in a fantasy. This glamorous, golden age, if it ever existed in the first place, is gone.”

Horatio was taken aback, but kept calm. “It’s not like you to burst my little bubble. When you’ve lived a few more seasons in Burchester, you’ll realise fantasy is the only way to stay within shouting distance of sanity. What has caused you to add lemon juice to your usual caustic vinegar, my dear? You haven’t come down with a case of the green-eyed monster over how popular my idea of having a singer was tonight?”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” snapped Sabine. “I didn’t trust the girl when I clapped eyes on her and when Adam Adamant turned up on the same day it confirmed what my instincts told me.”

“Adam who?” said Horatio, taking a sip of wine.

“He was the handsome, dark-haired man wearing a cape and carrying a stick.”

“Ah, yes, I vaguely remember him.”

“Vaguely remember! Didn’t you find it odd he was dressed like a Victorian gentleman?”

“Only normal people register with me and I try to avoid them as much as possible. Did you know I was strongly _persuaded_ to leave the village over a few measly bounced cheques, so as not to cause a scandal? I was made to feel like a naughty schoolboy. I returned to pay off my debts, that showed them. Being an entrepreneur is not accepted as a life choice here.” said Horatio sourly, recalling a past humiliation and reached for Sabine’s packet of cocktail cigarettes. 

“Don’t you remember reading in the newspapers about Adam Adamant - the Victorian adventurer who was frozen in ice for sixty-four years?”

“The only paper I receive is _The Forrest Echo_ and unless Mr Adamant was responsible for an outbreak of dermadatic mange I’m afraid his chances of making it to the pages of _The Echo_ are slim,” said Horatio, fishing a lighter out of his jacket pocket and lighting a brightly coloured cigarette.

“All you need to know about Adamant is that he goes around putting people like us out of business and into the clink. Stamping out crime is what he lives for.”

“If he returns send Jolene to work her magic curves on him. She’ll soon dissuade him from closing us down,” said Horatio, waving his cigarette in a dismissive manner.

“That tactic won’t work on him.”

“There’s Nigel, if he's of that persuasion. Nigel’s quite comely in the right kind of light,” said Horatio, thoughtfully. “I’m sure Lizzie won’t mind if we borrow him for a while.”

“That’s not the reason why he’ll be immune to Jolene. Adamant is a _real_ gentleman. He's wedded to the fight against evil.”

“Really? The poor man. I can’t imagine what it would be like to be deprive myself of the pleasure of a woman’s company,” said Horatio, with feeling. “I’d send Jolene to him regardless. Not for the sake of my establishment, but to save his soul from a life of unremitting tedium. One almost as tedious as your assumption that Georgina is involved with Adamant, based on them turning up on the same day.”

“She didn’t drape herself over any other man did she?”

“Unlike the others, she isn’t employed to drape herself over anyone. It’s only natural she would gravitate towards the most appealing member of the audience by a long chalk.”

“You’re a fool, Horatio. Do you want to go broke again? Or do you enjoy it?”

Horatio looked irritated. “Shall we ban the girls spending quality time with our VIPs? Adamant couldn’t have found anything out in the audience. If he returns to make further investigations, he’ll find nothing untoward.”

“We’ll run the bar as normal. I’ll make certain Adamant doesn’t go where he’s not wanted. As for the girl -,” Sabine briefly paused to grin wickedly. “- Adamant slipped up by sending her as his accomplice. The way you’ve danced attendance on her, you’ve made it impossible for her to go snooping around on her own. It really does pay to keep your friends close and your enemies even closer, as long as you haven’t told her anything that is detrimental to us?”

“Of course not. I am the very soul of discretion. I’ll convince Georgina of my virtuous disposition, instead. I fear I may have pushed her faster than she wanted to go. If she has been hanging out with a real Victorian gentleman, her hesitancy is understandable. If I can win her trust back, I’ll persuade her the girls have nothing more than a nice chat and a cup of tea with their clients.”

“Yes, you do that,” said Sabine, unconvinced. 

“I can’t decide whether to take her to tea with Dad or for lunch at White Peaks first. Perhaps she’d prefer a trip to the agricultural museum?” wondered Horatio, out loud. The lack of decent spots to woo a lady in Burchester didn’t deter him.

*****


	3. Sail off into the Night

The glorious weather continued the next day. After a hearty breakfast at The Sheep, Georgie decided to leave the pub and walk it off. The landlord had given her directions to the duck pond, which is where she found herself half an hour later, after being stopped several times by locals generously offering her a lift.

“Good morning!” called Georgie, brightly. She had caught sight of Adam sat on a bench, overlooking the pond.

“Good morning, Miss Jones. It is a fine day, is it not?” replied Adam.

“Yes, it’s lovely, if you’d budge up.”

“Budge?” said Adam, angling for a politely phrased request.

“Make space for me on the bench.”

“I fear you believe yourself to be wider than you are in reality,” sighed Adam, as he moved up to one end of the seat. “I had hoped you would be travelling home by this hour.”

“What and miss the barn owls?” Georgie did want to see the owls in between exposing enemies of the state. There wasn’t much interesting wildlife in London. 

“The barn owls are indeed worth observing, but you are too late. They are commonly seen at dawn or dusk.”

“Oh well, I can’t leave Burchester without seeing the owls. I’ll have to stay until the evening,” said Georgie, pleased at having an excuse to stay. Not that she thought she needed an excuse to stay and help Adam. “And I’ve dug up some info for you.”

“You have, Miss Jones?” enquired Adam, politely.

“Yes, I was talking to my landlady; a man was shot last week at White Peaks, where you’re staying. Could he have discovered something he shouldn’t have? It’s all a bit fishy. He’ll be at the local hospital - I reckon if we buy a bunch of flowers -,”

Adam interrupted her, “I hardly think it will be worth the journey. I have heard of this man from a receptionist. It seems the man, Hibbs, as he is known, is infamous for his drunken escapades. He works for the owner of White Peaks as a grounds man and taking leave of his duties, he went to take alcoholic refreshment in the woods. Unfortunately, it was the day of a shoot and he happened to get in the way. If he had become embroiled with a spy ring, I fancy it would have been arranged to silence him permanently, instead of peppering him with shot. In any case, a habitual drunkard is not a reliable witness.”

Disappointed, Georgie threw a few pebbles into the pond. “I guess not.”

Adam rose from the bench. “If you will excuse me, I’m heading back to White Peaks. Inhaling all this fresh, country air has given me quite the appetite and I have not had my breakfast yet. It was, however, worth delaying a meal to watch the owls swoop majestically over the fields in search of their prey.” 

****

Later on, when day had turned into night, Adam returned to the bar. He had slipped in with a group of young men, who were eager to enjoy the revels a night of “acrobatic dancing” promised. Now familiar with the layout, Adam chose a corner seat out of sight of Sabine and Horatio. He asked one of the unoccupied dancers to bring him a drink and kept an eye on the ‘Staff Only’ door. When he judged it an appropriate time to slip through the door, he left the table. He was about to open the door when Lizzie came through it.

“Oh!” Lizzie said, in surprise. She had not expected anyone to be behind the door.

“I am sorry to have alarmed you, my dear,” said Adam. He was trying to show no sign of being ruffled by Lizzie’s semi-clad appearance. “I was a patron of this establishment last night and I noticed another gentleman was invited through here.”

“Invited is the right word. We aren’t allowed to take callers out back, unless they’ve been OK-ed by the manageress.”

Adam smiled his most charming smile. “My dear lady, surely you can see a gentleman such as I could be trusted back stage,” he implored her.

Lizzie’s heart melted, as it always did at the sight of a handsome man. She glanced at Sabine. Sabine was occupied serving customers at the bar. “I could squeeze you in before Jolene’s big spender. You didn’t want a _special_ lap dance did you? It’ll have to be a quick striptease or nothing.”

Adam’s face froze, so as not to show his revulsion at what a _special_ lap dance would entail, but if he shied away from anything distasteful, he would never get to the heart of this nest of vipers. “That would be agreeable in the circumstances.”

“Er, OK, it’ll be five pounds,” said Lizzie, businesslike and stuck out the palm of her hand.

Adam took out his wallet and paid her with a crisp five-pound note. “My pleasure.”

Lizzie took another look at the bar. “When I open the door go straight on and it’s the third door on the left. When Jolene comes in tell her I sent you as a bonus turn. I’m called Lizzie, by the way.”

“Thank you for accommodating me at such short notice, Elizabeth.”

“Don't mention it," said Lizzie, distracted. She was watching to see if the coast was clear.

****

Adam duly went through the third door on the left. It was as good a place as any to start a search. The door opened into a small storeroom. He switched on the light which illuminated dark gold, velvet curtains, which had been tacked to the walls to suggest a sensual atmosphere. In the centre of the room was a single chair. The only other items in there were a purple chaise lounge and a couple of champagne cases pushed against the wall in the corner. Adam went to inspect the crates. Pulling them away from the wall, he found they were empty. The bottom case had an open back that concealed a reel-to-reel tape recorder and a lead that led to a microphone, hidden under a section of curtain.

Adam had learnt to operate a reel-to-reel when Georgie had invited some musicians to her flat to record a demo. They had lost their previous rehearsal space, due to, in Adam’s opinion, a complete dearth of musical talent. One of the band was the son of an important member of the House of Lords. When the son had been kidnapped, Georgie had played him back the tape to listen for clues.

Adam rewound the spool of tape and pressed play. A woman’s voice, low and husky, came through the speakers, “You are big in your department aren’t you? You know what really turns me on?

“No?” replied a masculine voice, with a gulp.

“When you tell me about all those developments you’ve got growing in your department. When you talk about technical things I couldn’t possibly understand it just blows my mind and I can’t control myself.”

“In my department…”

“Mmm,” responded the woman, encouragingly, as if it was the sexiest thing she had ever heard.

“I’m working on a prototype for a new missile. It’s so new it doesn’t have a proper name yet. It’s provincially called Project Z695. That’s the simple part, here’s where it gets technical…”

The man then made a noise Adam was sure wasn’t part of a description for Project Z695. He pressed pause in disgust. It was quite apparent how secrets were being leaked and he had the evidence to prove it.

“Hey! What are you doing with the tape recorder? And who are you anyway? You’re not Raymond,” exclaimed an angry female voice. Adam had been concentrating so intently on the tape, he hadn’t heard Jolene come in. He stood up and turned to face her. Behind Jolene, Sabine and Clarrie crowded into the doorway. 

“That man is Adam Adamant and he’s not here for pleasure. Jolene, show Mr Adamant what happens to unwelcome male visitors.” Sabine punched her fist into her hand to illustrate what she meant.

Jolene moved forward and struck Adam on the temple with a small, but powerful, fist.

****

“ _If it's wrong to let someone take, just a little kiss by mistake, let a lady confess, I wanna be ba-a-ada-dada-da-da bad!_ " sang Georgie, scanning the bar for Adam. Half an hour had passed since she had last seen him and she was getting worried. When she had come into work, Horatio had acted differently with her. He was just as attentive and had invited her to visit a tractor museum, but whereas he had kept as close as physically possible to her yesterday, tonight he had hung back. Perhaps he suspected she had come to spy on the coming and goings in the bar. On the other hand, was she being paranoid? Maybe Horatio was just trying to get back into her good books. He had given her a groovy, red, satin, Chinese-style dress to wear after all. He had also told her about the over-sixties trip he had organised and other good deeds he had personally done. Just because she couldn’t see Adam didn’t mean he was in a jam. That last thought set Georgie on a plan of action. Adam was a danger magnet, of course, he would be in trouble.

When Georgie had finished her current song, she motioned to the pianist to stop and went to the bar. The bar was surrounded by a throng of young men. They had come out to spend their pay packet and have a good time. Horatio was serving them as best as he could, but he could only go so fast. 

Georgie sidled up to Horatio behind the bar. “Is it all right if I take a short break?”

“Yes, fine. If you see Sabine tell her to get out here - I’m being swamped,” said Horatio, irritably, without looking at Georgie. Some of the men had taken notes out of their wallets and started waving them to attract Horatio’s attention. His narrowed eyes and pursed lips told Georgie exactly what he thought of their behaviour. She decided to move quickly in case he asked her to stay and help serve drinks. 

Finding herself in an empty corridor, Georgie made her way to the forbidden door. If Adam was going to search the premises, surely that would be the best place to find him. She came to the door, opened it and saw Adam lying unconscious, with three women standing around him.

“Ah, Georgina, I knew as soon as you were out of Horatio’s sight you’d start poking your nose where it wasn’t wanted,” said Sabine.

“I’m not snooping, I thought this was the toilet,” claimed Georgie.

“Which is in the other direction.”

“I don’t know my way around yet.”

“A likely story,” said Sabine, coldly. “Girls.” Sabine clicked her fingers and pointed at Georgie.

****

Adam’s eyelids fluttered open. He saw two angelic, female faces gazing down at him. Was this it? Was he in heaven? The ladies’ Classical hairstyles suggested he could be. He blinked again to fully clear his vision and found he was looking at a large oil painting of two nude women. Judging by the position of their hands and bodies, in relation to each other, they were on very friendly terms. He admired the painter’s skill, but he didn’t see why the artist couldn’t have used his talents to depict the ladies fully clothed and engaged in more suitable pursuits, like embroidery.

No, he wasn’t dead yet. Adam didn’t think he would have been deposited on a chair, with his wrists bound by rope behind his back, if he was in Heaven. Nor did he think Heaven would be located in a room that also had a bookcase with glass-panelled doors. It had box files on the right-hand side of the shelves, while the left was filled with books. He was surprised to see some classic novels of his youth on the shelves. Nor could he be in Hell. If he were, would not the fires of eternal damnation necessitate against having a couple of portable heaters, pushed up against the wall, to fight off a chill?

Adam’s eyes moved away from the radiators and landed on the mortal form of Sabine. She was dressed in a cream shift dress, with gold stitching. She was perched on a flame red, mahogany desk, smoking a cigarette. Adam’s swordstick was behind her. In different circumstances he would have admired her beauty. Opposite her, Jolene and Clarrie were leaning against the wall, sharing a cigarette.

Seeing Adam was awake, Sabine smiled and put her cigarette out on a small, bronze reproduction of _The Thinker_. Obviously, the office wasn’t decorated to her taste. “Did you enjoy your nap, Mr Adamant? Can I persuade you to turn a deaf ear to what you heard on the tape?”

“And be a traitor - never!” vowed Adam.

“That’s too bad. But what of your accomplice, won’t you play dumb to save her life?” Sabine pointed to Adam’s right.

Adam turned his head and saw Georgie was sat on a Regency-era chair. She smiled weakly at him. She would have waved, but her wrists were tied to the chair’s arms.

“Do what you want with me, but let the girl go. She’s an innocent.”

Sabine was unaffected by Adam’s appeal. “An innocent who knows too much.”

“It’s not too late to turn away from the course you have taken, Madam. I can save you from the life Mr Mariscal has set you on. You don’t have to obey him any longer.”

“Obey? You think Horatio is the boss? I’m the head of this operation. Horatio is an incompetent!” Sabine said, swinging her legs off the desk and standing. She was insulted by Adam’s assumption.

“But Madam!” cried Adam, too disappointed for words.

“I bet you did in the gardener too,” blurted out Georgie.

Sabine furrowed her brow. “The gardener?”

“The one who was shot,” said Georgie.

“Hibbs? Oh no, it was his own idiocy that led to his accident. If he knew anything about my set up, it would be less trouble to bribe him with free drinks for life. I haven’t harmed anyone in Burchester - _yet_.”

Without warning, the door between the painting and the bookcase banged open. “Georgina, Georgina, where are you? You’re overdue for your second act,” called Horatio, walking into the room. “Jolene, Clarrie, what are you doing here?” he said, as he caught sight of them. “Get back out front, the customers have been asking after you and…Georgina! What’s going on?”

“I wasn’t going to tell you until later, but as you’re here, I’m going to burn down the wine bar!” announced Sabine, dramatically.

“Have you lost your mind?” said Horatio, staring at Sabine in shock. “The bar is turning a handsome profit. It’s the first time I’ve been solvent since 1958. Why on Earth do you want to torch the bar?”

“Adamant and his warbling bird have uncovered what happens in the little store room.”

“I find in these situations lying low in exotic climbs for a couple of months is a more agreeable plan of action. The Canaries are lovely at this time of year,” said Horatio, with the confidence of someone who had indeed taken said course of action frequently.

Sabine came close to Horatio and put her hand on his arm. Horatio raised an eyebrow; Sabine wasn’t usually this friendly. “Think of the insurance pay out. You wouldn’t have to spend another winter in Burchester. There’d be plenty to purchase a permanent holiday bolthole with. Think of your aged father - you could take Wally abroad on _fabulous_ cruises. A fire is the only way to get rid of those two nosey parkers without arousing suspicion. The police will assume the vandals have progressed from smashing windows to arson.”

“I see,” said Horatio, curtly and removed Sabine's hand. “I can’t say I’m not sorely tempted, but to condemn two people to a fiery death because they’ve discovered we’ve been allowing customers to do more than gawp at our girls is a trifle excessive.”

Adam smiled grimly. “While I agree with you, Sir, that running a house of ill-repute is deplorable, in the eyes of the Law your acquisition of confidential Government information carries a higher sentence. Traitors can still be hanged.”

“What?” Horatio was confused.

“Adam means you’re in big trouble for spying,” explained Georgie.

“Yes, I understood what he was saying,” said Horatio, sharply. “Is this true, Sabine?”

Sabine gave a derisory laugh at Horatio’s expression. “The Government I work for is fed up with its reputation for using strong arm tactics. I’m paid handsomely to find more pleasurable methods to coax scientific secrets out of fusty, dusty scientists. Besides, the authorities tend to notice when people are kidnapped. This way everyone’s happy.”

“If I knew you had this in mind when you offered to invest in the bar I would have refused.”

“Is the great mail-van robber getting an attack of morals? Are you sure you’re not coming down with something?” jeered Sabine.

Horatio winced. “I was found not guilty,” he said automatically.

“Due to lack of evidence,” Sabine reminded him.

“This is my bar and I’m letting them go. I didn’t sign up to this crazy James Bond nonsense,” said Horatio, furious. 

“If that’s how you feel.” Sabine shrugged. “Girls, tie him up, so he can join his beloved Georgina. I’m sorry you’ll have to share her with Adamant, in your final moments together, but maybe you’ll like that.”

“With your fetish for tying people up, I bow to your judgement on kinks,” said Horatio, taking a couple of steps to the door and freedom. His exit was blocked by Jolene and Clarrie who grabbed him by the arms and dragged him to a hat-stand next to Georgie. He tried to struggle out of their grip, but to no avail. “All right, there’s no need to be so rough,” complained Horatio, when the women tied his hands behind his back. They then bound him to the hat-stand for good measure, without bothering to remove the coats hung on it.

Adam wasn’t sure why the dancers were so thorough. It could have been because they preferred captives to keep their struggles to a minimum or they didn’t have faith in the hat-stand, as opposed to a chair which was a tried and tested item of furniture to bind someone to. What he was certain of was that if he had been as securely bound he wouldn’t have been able to make use of a sharp nail, jutting out of his chair, to surreptitiously unpick his bonds.

“Who would have thought such pretty exteriors could hide such brutish interiors. My bright idea to hold afternoon judo classes in the bar has backfired on me, spectacularly,” grumbled Horatio.

“Don’t worry, we’ll get out of this. Just you wait. Adam’s been in more scrapes than I’ve had hot dinners,” said Georgie, bravely. 

“I’m afraid waiting is not an option open to you,” said Sabine, moving around the side of the desk to pick up a can of petrol from the floor. This done, she went and liberally dowsed her prisoners with petrol. 

“You’ll never get away with this Devil’s plot,” Adam promised.

“No?” said Sabine, unconcerned. She wiped the mouth of the can with a rag and put the can on the floor.

Suddenly, the door swung open and Caroline, Lizzie and Susan trouped in. Sabine dropped the rag on to the desk in surprise.

“There you are!” said Lizzie. “It’s packed out there and you’re all in here. I was going to ring Lisa and see if she’d come and cover for you skivers.”

While Sabine was momentarily distracted by the new arrivals, Adam took his chance and leapt from his chair to snatch his swordstick off the desk. With a flourish, he drew the sword from the stick. The women shrank back from the blade Adam waved back and forth at them.

“Madam, it is high time you ended this tom foolery,” instructed Adam.

“Girls, get him! Adamant is a gentleman of the old school: he’d never run through a lady,” commanded Sabine.

Adam’s eyes glittered as dangerously as the light flashing off his sword. “There is no telling what I will do when my friend’s life is threatened and I see no ladies present.”

“Go on - you outnumber him five to one,” urged Sabine.

“We’re unarmed,” Clarrie pointed out.

“Hit him with a chair,” said Sabine, becoming impatient with the dancers.

Clarrie picked up the desk chair, while Jolene chose the figure of _The Thinker_ , Caroline fished a bottle of scotch out of a drawer, Susan grabbed a chunky ink well and Lizzie had to make do with a letter opener, which was as substantial as a sheet of foil. They fanned out in a half circle to surround Adam. Adam’s eyes darted back and forth ready for a fight. The women moved reluctantly, unlike Adam whose poise showed his supreme confidence in his fighting ability.

Even with his view obscured by a coat, Horatio picked up on the dancers’ uncertainty. “Girls, think of the danger you’re facing. Not physically, but afterwards. Adamant’s an experienced fighter and when you’re defeated how do you imagine the authorities will deal with you? Clarrie, do you think Eddie will wait for a jailbird with his wandering eye? And Lizzie, you’ll have to wear the same uniform in jail for years and what’s worse it’ll never be in fashion - ever.”

Georgie added her voice to Horatio’s. “Susan, you told me you wanted your own place to live with your daughter. The social won’t let you near her if you’re sent down.”

“Not to mention the dishonour caused by it being publicly known you’ve betrayed your Queen and Country,” said Adam.

Horatio sighed at Adam’s suggestion, until it gave him an idea. “Caroline, considering your father spends every day lovingly polishing his portrait of her Majesty, could his heart take it if he knew you’d upset her?"

“This isn’t the sort of scandal that will propel you to the West End,” said Georgie to Jolene.

“That’s all very well, but it’s my voice that’s on the tapes. I’m in it up to my neck,” said Jolene, aggressively swinging the bronze figure.

“You can go if you want. We won’t tell on you. Sabine’s the mastermind,” said Caroline. The others nodded their assent. 

Sabine wasn’t going to let the girls waiver. “Don’t be foolish, there’s a bundle of cash in the safe, enough for a fat bonus if you disarm Adamant.”

Susan folded her arms. “Huh, I was promised a bonus at the start, if I did my job well, which I’ve yet to see.”

“If you hand me over to the police do you think they will let you off just like that?” Sabine snapped her fingers.

“If you co-operate with the authorities, I will personally give a statement attesting to your good character,” said Adam.

“He has the ear of the PM,” added Georgie.

“And I’ll say Sabine misinformed you about the nature of the job you applied for. Flutter your eyelashes at the Judge and you’re bound to be found not guilty. Take it from someone with experience of the judicial system from the wrong side of the dock,” said Horatio.

The women made their minds up. They put their weapons down.

Adam smiled. “I am heartened that no matter what you ladies have gone through your true, gentle, feminine qualities remain intact.” 

“You’ve not won yet. I’m not leaving without finishing what I’ve started,” said Sabine, with a maniacal gleam in her eye. She swiped the oily rag and a desk lighter off the desk. She balled up the cloth, lit it and threw it in Georgie and Horatio’s direction. There were screams of horror as the fireball arced through the air. With lightening speed, Adam jumped across the room. He thrust his sword arm out and speared the flaming rag on the tip of his sword. This done, he safely deposited the cloth into a metal wastepaper basket. Sabine stared on blankly as her last ditch attempt burnt itself out. The girls gathered around her, except for Jolene who quietly slipped out of the office.

“Madam, may I claim victory now?” said Adam, his voice lightly tinged with sarcasm. He then turned to cut Georgie free. 

“Phew!” said Georgie, jumping up and rubbing her wrists. “I’m glad you didn’t have to run the girls through. Normally, I wouldn’t care, but they’re decent sorts.”

“What about me,” said the slightly muffled voice of Horatio.

“What about you?” said Adam, turning to face him.

“Aren’t you going to bound over to release me?”

“Why should I do that?” said Adam, with distain.

“I had no idea Sabine was using my business as a front for harvesting spy secrets.”

“I don’t dispute that,” said Adam, leaning forward and tapping Horatio lightly on the chest with the tip of his sword. “However, what you said earlier leads me to believe you were quite happy for your premises to be used as a house of ill fame. If my memory serves me, that is still against the law and you will have to stand trail on those grounds.”

“But I tried to prevent Sabine from immolating you and I helped to persuade the young ladies to come to their senses,” said Horatio, desperately.

“I won’t forget to tell the Judge to take those admirable acts into consideration,” said Adam, firmly. “Now, Miss Jones, if I can leave you to guard Mr Mariscal, I shall march Madam Debarr to the nearest police station. If these ladies will kindly show me the way, of course.” Adam gave the dancers a small bow and pointed his sword at Sabine. They smiled back at him and shoved Sabine forward. 

“Why can’t I come?” pouted Georgie.

“Miss Jones, you’ve been in enough trouble already tonight,” said Adam following the group of women through the door, leaving Georgie and Horatio behind.

“Why doesn’t he phone for the police?” asked Horatio. “It’s a tad dramatic forming a procession up to the station with the wine bar’s follies.”

“Sometimes, he forgets phones have been invented,” said Georgie, staring at the door.

“I don’t understand why he didn’t march me off either.”

Georgie went and sat on the desk and swung her legs back and forth, already bored at being left out. “I guess you’re not as important or dangerous enough to bother with. Adam tries to keep me away from all the fun,” said Georgie, peeved. “But I just ignore him and join him in the action. I might not be able to fight like him or know all there is to know about leaping free in a single bound, but I can go undercover. Nobody notices a girl like me, unlike Adam.”

“Now, now, don’t do yourself down, my dear. I noticed you the second you walked into my miniature kingdom,” said Horatio, kindly.

“Adam needs me to translate modern lingo and explain what’s happened in the last sixty-five years too, like girls can go and have adventures and not stay at home looking soppy.”

“You’re the adventuress to his adventurer, but he doesn’t realise it.”

“Yes - exactly!”

“Hmm, it seems my efforts to win your heart were doomed from the beginning.”

“You’ll find your ideal woman soon,” consoled Georgie. 

“I fear my options will be somewhat limited when I’m doing porridge,” said Horatio, gloomily.

“Cheer up, Adam said he’d put in a good word. You’ll be back serving champers before you know it and the girls are fond of you. I don’t suppose we’ll see Jolene again and Clarrie and Lizzie are taken, but what about Susan?”

“It’ll be a long time before she trusts any man again.”

“Caroline? She said nice things about you in the dressing room.”

“Through my role of barkeep, with the ever ready ear and shoulder to cry on, I know precisely the type of man Caroline goes for and it’s not me. I believe in bowing to the inevitable; it’s much less exhausting.”

“Well, I could never be so defeatist. And to not even try!”

“I prefer to be a free spirit. I’m not one to be tied down,” said Horatio, shifting as much as his bonds allowed him.

“I wouldn’t give up, even if I had to wait for a hundred years.”

“Ah, the idealism of the young. I wish I still had it, as well as the youth. There are two glasses in the bottom left drawer of the desk. Would you be so kind as to pour me a scotch, please? And have one for yourself. I am in serious need of a drink.”

“I’ll pass on the drink,” said Georgie, digging out the tumblers. 

“Tell me about your troubles - it’ll distract me from mine, for example the chafing of these ropes securing me. They are uncomfortably tight and I believe my circulation is being cut off,” hinted Horatio, none too subtly. 

****


	4. Epilogue

“Hey, Mr Adamant, look at this!” exclaimed Georgie, pushing through the double doors into Adam’s drawing room. In her hand she held aloft a small rectangle of card bearing a photograph of a donkey in a straw hat on a beach. 

“Miss Jones has arrived, Sir, by her usual conveyance of barging her way in,” announced Simms, following in her wake.

Adam rose from his armchair and came over to her. “It’s a very colourful picture, my dear,” said Adam, humouring Georgie. 

“I think the postcard is tacky, but it’s come all the way from Lanzarote from Horatio,” replied Georgie.

Adam frowned, which Georgie mistook for an expression of confusion and not displeasure. “You know, the shady owner of the wine bar, where we nearly ended up as flambéed as a crepe suzette.”

“There was a barman who sold young ladies for a fumble,  
Before meeting Miss Jones caused him to crumble,  
Admitting defeat,  
He beat a retreat,  
Which led to his business taking a tumble," rhymed Simms, neatly summing up the case.

“I do recall the situation,” said Adam.

“Ooh, which reminds me. Simms?” said Georgie.

“Yes, Miss?” said Simms, with a curl of his lip. He was standing by the kitchen door. He had been hoping to finish the washing up and set the twin tub to spin.

“I forgot to ask you at the time, but have you ever met a Horatio Mariscal? He sounds exactly like you at your poshest.”

“I’m afraid not.”

“Are you sure? He could be a long lost relative.” Georgie squinted at him, searching for the tiniest flicker of recognition.

“I’m unlikely to forget a name like that.”

“No, I suppose not,” agreed Georgie.

“You are assuming Mr Mariscal is a man who would stick to one given name,” said Adam.

“That I can believe,” said Georgie and went to the pile of newspapers stacked next to the fireplace. Crouching down, she started to pull out the papers from the bottom and flick through them. Simms, in horror at her destruction of the neat pile, went to stop her. 

“Here it is!” Georgie folded a newspaper over at the page she was looking at and triumphantly showed it to Simms. “It’s obviously an old photo; Horatio’s hair is dark in it and it’s grey now.”

“It no doubt dates from the time he was implicated in a mail-van robbery,” speculated Adam.

Simms shook his head at the picture.

“I find it deplorable Mr Mariscal only received a fine for selling those young ladies’ virtue for profit,” commented Adam.

“It was your character reference that did it. No-one would question the truth of anything you said,” said Georgie. “Horatio was in the RAF same as you, Simms. It is odd he sounds so posh because his dad could have been the original country yokel.”

“A lot of people who went into the RAF came out with a different accent to the one they started with. I, however, I mastered the art of speech by taking lessons to learn how to control the muscles of my mouth and not from parroting the accents that came floating out of the officer’s mess,” said Simms, haughtily.

“Did you? I always thought those mail-order courses in the small ads were a con, but not any more. I’ve always wanted to send off for the _Teach Yourself Hypnotism_ one,” said Georgie, innocently.

“I wouldn’t waste your money - your usual chat is enough to send anyone into a trance,” sniped Simms.

Georgie ignored him. She was bursting to tell Adam her news. “Guess what, Mr Adamant?”

“What, Miss Jones?”

“Horatio writes he has set up a small bar and has asked me to come and work as a singer there. He has promised me all the cocktails I can drink. Wouldn’t that be whizz-o?”

“Considering his last venture into the hospitality industry, I would endeavour with your current profession,” advised Adam.

“I wasn’t seriously thinking of going, but it’s super to be asked. He also writes we could finish that chat we were having about my love life.”

“Miss Jones, you would do well to learn a little feminine mystique,” Adam gently admonished.

“I wasn’t going to sit there in the office and eyeball him in silence, until the coppers came to cart him off.” 

“You should avoid conversing with the criminally minded; such slippery characters can’t be trusted not to use a thin veneer of charm to trick you into setting them free.”

“Well, he failed to sweet talk me,” said Georgie, smugly.

“In the future if you desire to ask for advice in matters of the heart, I recommend you don’t seek the counsel of a man who has no regard for the delicacy of a lady’s reputation in society.”

“OK, Mr Adamant, I’ll come to you next time,” said Georgie, with a grin.

The End.

**Author's Note:**

> Song lyrics taken from:  
> 'Button Up Your Overcoat' by Ray Henderson, B.G. DeSylva and Lew Brown.  
> 'Ain't Misbehavin'' by Fats Waller, Harry Brooks and Andy Razaf.  
> 'I Want to be Bad' by Ray Henderson, B.G. DeSylva and Lew Brown.


End file.
